Happy
by mylittlelifedoesntcountatall
Summary: Dean Ambrose is an eighteen year old boy, living in Cincinnati, Ohio, diagnosed with chronic depression. He can't remember a time when he was genuinely happy, without the pills. What happens when he meets Seth Rollins at his local park? Can he turn his life around? BxB. Don't like, don't read.


**Starting a new story, because I had this idea and it wouldn't go away, so I decided I might as well give it a try. I hope you guys like it. Its in Dean's POV, by the way.**

**Follow, favourite & review!**

**Ciara x**

* * *

I wasn't staring, not really, I was just observing them. They seemed interesting, exciting, every thing I wanted to be, but unfortunately could not. They looked rebellious, with their tattoos, and piercings, and crazily dyed hair, but they weren't smoking like most of the people around here do. And they didn't appear to be drunk or high either.

They were just sitting in the middle of the park, three boys and a girl. The girl was pretty, but in a kind of not obvious way, the kind that doesn't make a big deal about itself. Long brown hair flowed past her shoulders, as she tossed back her head in a laugh.

That was another thing about them, each one of them seemed genuinely happy, another thing I was jealous of them for. Of course, I was "happy" now as well, but something told me they didn't need to take the pills. That annoyed me, the artificialness of the whole thing, like something was wrong with me, like I was sick.

The boy closest to me had hair that could only be described as amazing. I could count about fifty different colours in it, like some sort of rainbow had collided with his long hair. He had several tattoos along his arms as well, visible only because of his rolled-up jumper sleeves. Piercings decorated his face as well, glinting in the pale early spring-time sunshine.

It was sunnier where they were sitting, in the centre of the park away from the trees. I was sitting on a park bench in the shadows, but I wasn't cold, not really. I never really got cold, if I was completely honest, but I was never warm either. That basically described my whole life. Nothing horrifyingly bad had ever happened to me, but nothing good had either.

The boy sitting suspiciously close to the girl, much too close for friends, that was for sure, was also covered in tattoos, his forearms coated in them. He had a couple piercings as well, simple silver studs. His dark hair was the most natural of the boys, slicked back with an astronomical amount of gel. He had dark bags under his eyes, almost smokey.

Smoke. Cigarettes. My saviour. My favourite thing in the world. The only thing that really kept me going most days. I know deep down that they're bad for me, and that I shouldn't fuck up my lungs when there's people who are dying from lung cancer, and I do care about that, before you go thinking I'm some sort of heartless bastard. But I've just never cared enough to stop.

The final boy had long hair, half dyed black, the other half platinum blonde, tied back in a messy bun kind of thing. He was tanned, too, and his arms, revealed thanks to the muscle top he was wearing that was highly inappropriate considering the temperature, were incredibly muscular.

Watching them, seeing their obvious closeness, I couldn't help but feel lonely. It wasn't that I didn't have any friends at all, I had people to sit with at lunch in school and stuff, but the bond they seemed to have together, I hadn't had that with anyone. Except Roman. But he was in fucking Florida now, thousands of miles away, because God forbid Dean Ambrose would ever be happy.

I guess I must have zoned out or something, because I never saw him walking towards me until he was literally right in front of me. Fuck, what did he want? Had he caught me star- observing him and his friends?

"You know those things kill you, right?" He said, taking a seat next to me.

It took me a couple of seconds to realise he was talking about the cigarettes. "Funny. Sometimes I feel like they're the only thing keeping me alive," I was joking, kind of, but he didn't laugh, just gave me a weird look.

"Irony," he said. "But, yeah, I guess I don't really appreciate you giving so much money to an industry responsible for so many deaths,"

I didn't know whether to laugh at him or punch him in the face. "I guess I don't really appreciate you coming over here and telling me how to live my life,"

He laughed, a pretty sound, even though this time I wasn't joking. "I'm Seth," he said after a while.

"Dean," I replied

"Well, I should get back to my friends before they leave without me. I'll see ya around, Dean," And with that, he stood up and walked back towards his friends. I watched as the four of them left, the dark haired guy swinging his arm around the girl's shoulder.

I checked the time on my phone. 21:37. I should've been on my way home. Sighing slightly, I stood up, took one last drag of my cigarette before standing up, dropping it, and stomping it out.

I didn't smoke another one that day.

* * *

I reached my house just as my mom was leaving for work. She gave me a quick hug and told me Harry was already in bed, and there was pizza in the freezer if I wanted food. My mom worked three jobs; a cleaner in Walmart early in the morning, waitressing during lunchtime at the local hotel and as a bartender at night. My dad walked out on us before Harry was born, but I honestly didn't care. I could barely remember him anyway, and if he didn't want to know us, then that was his problem.

I do wish my mom didn't have to work so hard though.

I wandered inside, locking the door behind me. Our neighbourhood wasn't the worst, but it certainly wasn't the best either. I put on a pepperoni pizza, and when I was done eating it, I headed upstairs to the room I shared with Harry. He was still sound asleep so I left the light off, lying on my bed.

I pulled out my phone and began to text Roman, who thankfully hadn't forgotten about me. I knew he'd have absolutely no problem making friends, he'd no doubt get on to the football team. Unless, like in our school, he found some weird kid and decided to befriend him instead. It was something Roman would do. Trust me, I know.

Texting Roman felt oddly nostalgic, and it was weird how he was so far away and still managed to be the same Roman he'd always been; cool as fuck, but also the most stupid guy on the planet.

Between listening to Harry's slow steady breathing and waiting for Roman's reply, it was one of those times that made me really believe the pills were unnecessary.


End file.
